Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I strip away that skin,
the flesh and bones
until nothing is left,
but a single sad sob
in an empty world.
 Jan 2020 Sassperilla
Stanley
Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,
First poem I've written, to anybody who reads this is hope you enjoyed it and it made you day a little better

— The End —